Broken- And Fixed Again- (A Jamilton Fanfic)

Chapter 26: They Know

//TW: swearing, mentions of self-harm, panic attacks\\

Alexander

"Okay," John said, crossing his arms. "I'm just gonna say what we're all thinking." He turned to glare at me. "Alexander, if I'm not the best man at your wedding, I will be very pissed."

Eliza turned to John. "Who's thinking that?"

"Well, everyone is now," he responded with a smirk.

Eliza made a face. "Well, I mean, you're not wrong. But isn't it too early to start thinking about a wedding?"

"It's never too early to start thinking about a wedding," John replied. "Plus: weddings have free beer."

I blinked, at a complete loss for words. John raised a knowing eyebrow at me, as if daring me to speak, and I just couldn't bring myself to answer his unspoken questions. It wouldn't have been good enough, anyway. Not good enough for John and certainly not good enough for Thomas, who deserved all the stars in the sky. The boy went stiff besides me anyway, pushing himself away as if putting all the space in the world between us would have made any difference. But they had already seen; our private little garden had been exposed for the entire world to gaze upon.

"Like I said," Lafayette added, grinning wildly and doing everything he could to hide that stupid look on his face. "If you want us to come back later..."

"No!" I exclaimed. "This is not...um. There's an explanation for this."

"Yeah?" Eliza pressed.

"Totally. Just give me like, a minute to think of it."

She rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless."

"Am not!"

"You are too."

"Okay, you know what—?"

But as we spoke, Thomas had gone completely silent save for the uneven catch of his breath in his throat. The simple, strangled sound—as if an animal was desperately trying to keep itself from drowning underneath a river of scarlet and crimson—halted all the words that had risen to my lips. God, he looked as if he was trying to keep afloat, fighting for survival. A story played across his face, a story I had seen too many times before. For a good minute, it looked as though he wanted to speak, to say something. But he was dragged back under those same old waves of anxiety, and whatever he wanted to say died.

I watched Thomas as he drew himself away, shrinking down as much as possible as if that would help him disappear. He began to grab at his wrists, fingers digging into the flesh still vulnerable from all the times it had been torn open. Panic flashed through his face even as he tried to hide its unrelenting tides of fear. Thomas closed his eyes tightly, and the floor underneath me caved inwards.

"Thomas?" I asked, reaching for his hands before he could hurt himself and reopen the fading scars. His skin was cold under my touch. "Hey, it's alright. Breathe, remember? Breathe for me."

He nodded, murmuring something over and over again, three syllables that did not belong here, or anywhere else. Not in his sweet voice. They were words filled with disappointment and guilt and failure, and my Thomas deserved better than all of those things. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm—"

"Thomas, you don't have anything you need to apologize for, okay? Everything's okay. Just breathe."

He relaxed slightly, letting me envelope his hands with my own. His breathing slowly began to steady as he drew in deep gulps of air, and I pulled him closer to me even if all the world could now see. It didn't matter. He was free, and he would always be free, no matter who tried to intervene, no matter who tried to rip him away. I could feel his heartbeat pulsing wildly against my arm, but it began to slow a little, returning to the rate at which it belonged.